


Not Another Cinderella Story

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: Loki Bingo 2020 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Asgardian Loki (Marvel), Ballroom Dancing, Boundaries, Cinderella Elements, Deal with a Devil, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fake Character Death, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Gardens & Gardening, Magic, Male Cinderella, Minor Injuries, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Past Domestic Violence, Pining, Rating May Change, Rebellion, Reverse Fairytale, Slow Burn, Touch Averse Character, loki is cinderella
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Running from her duties as princess of Asgard, the reader crashes into a stranger in the woods and as he cleans her wounds he shares his hardships. They device a elaborate ruse to help them both get what they want: Loki is freed from being a slave to his father; the reader gets the freedom she has always desired. What happens after they get their ‘happily ever after’ though is anyone’s guess and they must navigate the minefield of their fake marriage together or risk the entire plan falling apart entirely.Loki Bingo: C3 - Free Square
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader, Loki/Reader
Series: Loki Bingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910923
Comments: 15
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another Loki Cinderella AU because apparently I can't leave fairytales alone. I hope that you enjoy it as much as me, please let me know what you think because - and I know everyone is saying it, but it's true - feedback, kudos and shares really do make a big difference.

The wind raged around you, twisting the branches of the trees to breaking point. The eerie creaking filled the air, barely drowned out by the heavy strides of your horse on the hard soil ground. The gale slapped your face like your father’s words, a harsh reminder of the duties you were shirking by running away, but you didn’t care.

Loose branches scratched at your cheeks, marred the skin your servants had spent years trying to protect from the harsh realities of life. A dark pleasure filled your chest at the thought of their horror when they found you, no doubt dragged back to the palace under armed guards, with your perfect hair as wild and disarrayed as the undergrowth on the forest floor, your silk skirt shredded and dried blood dripping from your temples.

Bitterness swirled in your heart. If you weren’t the only daughter of the king, if you weren’t the key to securing the kingdom of Asgard’s future, this could have been your life. How wonderful it would be to be free, to ride through the outer territories and fight the elements, to scramble for your survival and actually do something for yourself. To feel something yourself, rather than be forced to parade around with a painted smile and hide your true desires for the betterment of your people.

You had lived in a bubble for your entire life, safe and pretty but trapped in the illusion of perfection. Never permitted to express your emotions, forced to bury them deep in the cold recesses of your mind until they ate away at your will to carry on, left you the empty, pliable shell of a princess that every kingdom needed to marry off and ensure their continuation.

Even now, your emotions sat dormant inside of you, locked away and out of reach. All save for anger and resentment, which had grown so strong that they permeated each cell of your body, flowed like a dark blood through your veins and drove your bid for freedom like its own creature desperately seeking a way to escape the confines of ‘princess’.

The red sun shone brightly through the thick trees, casting a fiery glow across the path on which you rode. A warning from the gods, perhaps. Or maybe it was a guiding light, a temptation from the devil, leading you to a crossroads for the chance to change your life forever. Would he offer you the freedom you desired? What cost would he demand? It was irrelevant; you would take it regardless.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t at first notice the shadowed figure in the distance. Birgir cantered on at full speed towards the stranger, as focused on his escape as you. Only as you came close enough to separate his dark hair from the shadows that surrounded him did you yank on the reins, a harsh string of curses falling from your lips as you tumbled off the saddle and crashed straight into a thick oak tree.

“What?” you groaned, warm sticky blood on your palm where you touched the side of your skull. The dark haired man hovered on the other side of the path, caught between fleeing from the consequences of his idiocy and offering assistance to get you back on your way. Making the choice for him, you said, “Help a lady up, would you?”

“In my experience, true ladies do not swear like soldiers.” His hesitation would have earned him a sharp warning in court but the man did eventually step forward and stretch out his hand. He gripped your wrist and pulled you up into a seated position.

“Try spending your life around them and you’ll be surprised what we pick up. What are you - Don’t touch me!” You whacked his hand away, amazed by the sheer hubris of his action. If he thought he could take advantage of you just because you were dazed and bleeding, that you were helpless without the protection of your person guards, then he was sorely mistaken.

He sat back on his heels, still uncomfortably sat inside your personal space, and regarded you with annoyance. “I was merely attempting to check your wound, my lady.”

“Oh.” Years surrounded by the deplorable behaviour of ‘well meaning’ gentlemen had made you wise to their tricks but something in his eyes – a curious green, like the shifting colours of a tainted diamond in the moonlight – gave you pause to think. Reluctantly, you lowered your hand and nodded sharply. “Proceed.”

Mumbling about ‘the abominable manners of the gentry’ beneath his breath, the dark haired man lightly cupped your cheek and tilted your face side to side. His fingers were gentle on your jaw, his touch precise and purposeful as he inspected your injuries. “You will live. However, you should allow me to clear the dirt from the wound before it becomes infected.”

He retrieved his bag from the side of the road, a tattered leather sack which had clearly seen better days, and you vaguely wondered if this was a ploy he used often. Stand in the shadows, cause injuries and then offer to fix his mess for a fee. It made sense; why else would he be hiding in these parts, miles away from Asgard Main, as evening closed in?

You drew back when he returned, distrust radiating so strongly from you that even Birgir shifted uncomfortably. “What do you demand in return for you medicine? How am I to be assured that it will even work and that you are not a common trickster?”

“You think me a con man? A mercenary? Well, let me assure you, my lady, that I am far from such. All I demand,” he spat the word as if offended by its very existence, by your harsh presumptions. “Is that you sit still and allow me to help so I may be on my way.”

He fiddled with vial in his hand, barely three inches tall, made of glass and decorated an intricate twisted pattern that indicated its age far surpassed your own. Inside, a brown liquid that had an extremely pungent smell. You flinched at the acidic odour, nose scrunched uncouthly. “What is that?”

“A concoction derived from plants and herbs. It is neither poisoned nor spiked and the worst side effect you will face is a slight sting when it comes into contact with the wound.” To prove his point, he tipped a few drips onto his finger and drew a line across his cheek, then sucked the rest from his fingers. “Do you believe me now?”

You nodded. “Continue.”

‘A slight sting’ was an understatement but you clenched your jaw and bit back the painful scream as the stranger dabbed a soaked piece of cloth to your wound. One hand cupped your jaw and held you gently but firmly in place, stopped you from pulling away from the cleansing. The cloth was stained red when he pulled away but the man quickly assured you that the bleeding had ceased.

He poured the liquid on a clearer bandage and applied it to the wound, using a sweet smelling paste – honey and herbs if your nose was to be believed – to keep it stuck in place. You watched each move intently, surprised by the efficiency of the stranger. “From whom did you acquire these skills?”

“I learned from my mother. She was highly skilled in the creation of healing potions and magical charms.”

“Was?”

The man nodded, his expression blank. For the first time since meeting him, you suddenly understood a little about the stranger. You too had learned how to hide your emotions behind empty masks. “She was killed by an attacking force not two years ago.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”

He regarded you harshly, shoving the vial back into his bag with such force that it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. “I’m sure you are.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Gesturing at your clothes, torn and muddy but still worth more per inch than everything he currently wore, the stranger hissed, “Look at you. What could you possibly know of loss when everything is handed to you on a silver platter? What do you know of suffering? You sit with your friends in plush quarters and do not see the hardship of those around you. When my mother died, it was me that had to replace her. I cook, I clean, I do whatever I am ordered by people like you regardless of how humiliating because there is no choice if I want to survive.

“My mother was strong; she fought back. Only now that she is gone do I realise how much she shielded me from. She maintained her dignity but my father… He stripped mine away long before she was killed. Without her protection, I am a slave to him, the punching bag of my brother and the butt of the jokes that he and his friends toss around like knives. I return from one Hell at the palaces to an even worse existence at home. But, of course, you understand my loss.”

No words would fix his pain, that was obvious. Instead, you reached to touch his hand, unsurprised when he drew away. “I did not realise your situation was so dire.”

He laughed, a harsh crowing sound that grated on your nerves. “I am so pleased to have illuminated you to the realities of life outside your palace. Now, if you’d be so kind, I -” The man paused then suddenly grabbed your hand. Twisting it over, he studied your signet ring and his expression grew even more troubled. “You are of royal blood.”

“So what of it?”

You could practically see the cogs turning in his mind, clunking slowly as he considered your position. Those fascinating green eyes glittered in the setting sun and all of your earlier concerns returned in double. What did he have planned for you? Well, you weren’t about to sit helplessly by and find out.

From beneath the folds of your skirt, you pulled the small dagger you kept strapped to your thigh for emergencies like this. In a swift movement, you swung it up and pressed the tip into the base of his throat, almost daring him to make a move. “Answer my question, trickster.”

He shoved at your shoulder, far stronger than he appeared, but you had the upper hand. Your base was better balanced and you’d caught him off guard. It would be difficult if he chose to fight his way out but you were confident you could take the man.

Instead of fighting, though, the stranger simply slouched back against the tree and raised an eyebrow. Only the slight tremble of his fingers against the dirt showed his true fear. “End my life if you please. I have no one to miss me.”

“Must you be so dramatic? Simply tell me what you had planned for me.”

“Nothing so fully formed. Merely the inkling of an idea that could prove mutually beneficial to us both.”

“Speak it, then.”

“Remove the dagger from my throat first.”

Reluctantly, you pulled back. However, lowering your walls came at a price. With a speed you could never have anticipated, the man plucked the blade from your hand and stabbed it in the ground beside him. He rubbed his throat dramatically. “That’s better. Perhaps formal introductions are in order. I am Loki, son of Frigga.”

Interesting, you thought, that he considered himself son of his mother. Very few men did. However, based on what he had shared, you wouldn’t want to be tied to a father that treated you like a slave either. Hell, that was exactly why you were out here in the middle of nowhere, attempting to flee the kingdom like a common criminal escaping justice.

Gaze still on your blade, running potential scenarios which might lead to its reclamation, you said, “You already know who I am.”

“It never hurts to hear one’s suspicions confirmed.”

Oh, he really was testing your patience. And yet, despite that, you still found yourself following the protocol drilled into you by multiple tutors since childhood. You bowed your head and touched his right shoulder, trying not to flinch as he returned the gesture. “Loki Friggason, I am Crowned Princess Iliya of Asgard, defender of liberties and sworn protector of the people.”

Loki thumped his chest then opened his palm to you, the standard greeting among travelling nobles and dignitaries. Ceremony complete, he sat back and asked, “One and the same with the Princess Iliya that has refused all marriage proposals these past five years and whose father is hosting a ball next month in a futile attempt to wed you off to another unsuitable suitor?”

“Indeed…” You answered slowly, quickly grasping where Loki was heading.

“May I ask, why you have turned down the hand of so many potential partners?”

“No.”

“Come now, Y/N.”

You narrowed your eyes at Loki, the warning clear with every carefully pronounced word. “Listen to me, Friggason. You do not now, nor will you ever, be so in my confidences that you may use my birth name to address me. You should consider yourself lucky that I am even tolerating your presence after you ran me off the road.”

“You ran yourself off the road, Princess. If you are unused to riding alone through these forests, you should take more note of your surroundings. Perhaps next time, you should allow one of your father’s riders to accompany you.”

His smooth tone did not take away from the impertinence and if you had been anywhere else in the kingdom you would have ensure him swift and adequate punishment for showing such disrespect. Right now, though, you were unwelcomely intrigued by his carefully crafted jibes and annoyingly interested by the man himself who would dare test the line of propriety so openly. “Watch your tongue, Loki.”

“Why? Would you cut it out?”

It was no wonder his mother had to shield him from the world if he treated other nobles with such cheek. Still, it was almost charming – a thought you were quick to brush away. “I would certainly consider it.”

“Ah, you might find you’d regret that choice, my lady. I have been told that it is one of my best assets.” Unable to draw a reaction from you, Loki simply smirked before returning to the business at hand. “I propose that you choose to marry me at your father’s ball next month.”

You had known that was exactly where this was heading but it still sounded supremely stupid when he spoke it aloud. “And I would do that because…?”

“It is beneficial to us both. You elevate me out of my personal servitude so I no longer live in misery and you maintain the freedom you so obviously desire by having a husband that could not care less about how you spend your time.”

“Marriage is a bind on my freedom regardless of who it is to. As soon as I am wed, my husband’s voice becomes the prominent one and all of my ideas and plans for change must go through him. I am confined to live with him, to share my space and dedicate my time to entertaining his whims. I will be paraded around the kingdom as a shining example of a happy union and it is expected that within the year our union would be _blessed_ with a child, at which point my few remaining freedoms will vanish entirely.”

Loki listened carefully as you raged, these thoughts which you’d kept locked away for so long spewing from your mouth like an unstoppable river of pent up bitterness and hatred. When he was certain you were finished, he pulled a scrap of fabric from his pocket and offered it over wordlessly.

Turning his head to the empty road as you wiped the furious tears from your eyes, he said, “I assure you that I desire none of that. If what you say is true, then I shall be a voice for all of your ideas in court for I have no interest in running a kingdom myself. We most definitely needn’t share a bed and I certainly do not require you to entertain me. If we must be paraded around the kingdom, we can use the trips for good and implement these grand ideas of yours in person.”

“I notice you avoided the topic of children.”

“I thought it obvious that we would never lay together. And, unless my tutors at school were misinformed, that is rather a prerequisite for the creation of life. You will receive no expectations from me there, Princess. You have my word.”

You chuckled softly, wiping the last of the tears from your eyes. “Your plan is doomed to fail.”

“How so?”

“My father will never condone a marriage to a commoner.”

“The dress me in the finest clothes and make me out to be something more. The trick to a good lie is in the details, my lady. We have a month until the ball. That is more than enough time to concoct a suitable life story and prepare me for a life at court.”

“This sounds an awful lot of effort on my part.”

Loki shrugged. “Perhaps. However, if our scheme -”

“Your scheme.”

“ _My_ scheme works,” Loki corrected with a grin. “Then your life will become far simpler. You can stop fighting with your father. You can release the weight of expectations that hold you down and prevent you from enjoying the life you have been gifted by the gods.”

It sounded so simple, so sensible when he put it like that. In reality, it was madness. A scheme like this would be a constant drain on your energy, a permanent shadow over your head as you lied to everyone that cared about you in the palace. Whether Loki spoke the truth or not, you would be committing yourself to married life and welcoming a change which you had fought for so very long.

You would no longer be in complete control of your life, vulnerable to the moods of another. Even worse than simply facing a husband, you’d be facing a man that was able to bring you to your knees if he chose. If the court ever learned of Loki’s humble origins, your reputation would be ruined, your power snatched away in the blink of an eye.

This was a huge gamble indeed.

But the benefits… If Loki was true to his word, if he kept out of your way, allowed you everything that you desired, they could be immeasurable.

“Are you sure you aren’t the devil, Loki?”

The dark haired man grinned and jumped to his feet, quick to pull you up with him. Straightening his tattered jacket before lowering himself in a dramatic bow, the red sunlight twinkling in his eyes, Loki said, “I assure you, Princess, I am far more fun to be around.”


	2. Chapter 2

The outer settlements of Asgard Main were, for lack of a better description, in squalor. Birgir’s hooves clacked against the uneven stone path and you gripped the reigns just a little tighter; apparently your kingdom’s expert builders hadn’t made it this far out. You looked down at the road below, with its badly cut slabs and dirty stones, and sighed. It only got worse as you progressed through the village until it was nothing but a dirt track with a few pebbles on the edges to mark the boundary.

Rope lines were draped between every home, washing hung freely in the open for all to see. Unlike the drying rooms in the palace, where fabrics of every shade and material shone in the morning sun, an ever changing rainbow of the latest styles, here there seemed to be only muted tones and sad cuts. There was not a single item of clothing that did not have a hole in it or some kind of patchwork quick fix to cover the offending gaps.

People pottered from one building to the next, lugging large baskets of goods from one place to another without any real sense. Some moved foods, a limited selection of vegetables grown in the surrounding fields, to be stockpiled ready for collection and distribution around the kingdom. Others moved jewellery far too beautiful to belong in as bland a place as this and pottery that was a far cry from the fine crockery you had at the palace.

A general air of exhaustion hung over the settlement, like every person there was exhaling a tired sigh at once. No wonder Loki wanted to get out of this sad little village.

Rounding the corner to the Odin family residence, Birgir sudden reared up onto his back legs. You clung to his hair and muttered a few calming words into his ear. They quickly did the trick and you pressed your forehead against the back of his neck, stroking his mane gently. “What has you spooked, dear friend?”

Your answer soon came in the form of a frustrated cry: “Loki! Where is that useless boy? Loki!”

Birgir backed up, hiding you both from view as a large man stormed around the Odins’ house. He moved with the superior arrogance of a fat king, over indulged and convinced that he was always right. Not unlike your father in that way, although this man carried with him an anger you rarely came across.

One eye was covered by a rusting eye patch, a deep red scar proud and unhidden, as angry as the man beneath. You wondered whether it was war that had hardened him, as it did so many, or if Odin – for that was who you deduced him to be – had always been this way. You thought back to how Loki had spoken of him in the forest and decided that it was most likely the latter.

Summoned by your thoughts above his father’s thundering calls, Loki suddenly appeared at your side. At first you didn’t register his presence. It was only when he climbed up onto Birgir’s back that you saw him and hissed, “What in the gods’ names do you think you’re doing?”

“Accepting rescue from a beautiful princess.” You began to protest, two seconds from pushing him off Birgir’s saddle, when Loki gripped your arm and pleaded, “I beg you, just ride before he sees us. I shall apologise properly when we are away from my father.”

Shrugging his hand away, you reluctantly nodded. He was genuinely terrified of Odin’s wrath and you weren’t anywhere near furious enough about his brashness to stand by and allow his father to take out his bad mood on Loki. Undoing the clip of your broach, you handed Loki your cloak and said, “Put this on. Keep the hood up. It will hide your face until we are away.”

You tugged on Birgir’s reigns and rode back through the settlement at a gentle trot to keep from drawing any unwanted attention – at least any more than you had already done by parading through in your obviously noble attire. Thankfully, the people of the village were polite enough, or perhaps scared enough, not to study you with more than a passing glance and you soon turned off onto a forest path.

Against reason, the dirt path was actually better constructed than the cracked slabs that lined Loki’s village and Birgir quite happily wove between the thick trees until you reached a clearing you visited often as a child, back when you’d been allowed – encouraged even – to explore the realm instead of being trapped inside and forced to attend afternoon tea with potential allies (a pathetic attempt by the court to set you up with suitors in a ‘casual’, extremely awkward setting).

Loki jumped off Birgir’s back the moment he stopped and bowed his head, extending his arm to offer you assistance. You knocked it away and dismounted alone, but nodded in thanks nonetheless. Putting a comfortable distance between you and Loki, you breathed in the forest air, crisper and lighter than that of the settlement. This was much better.

“Thank you, Princess.”

You turned to Loki and asked, “For what reason was your father so angry?”

He shrugged, ringing his hands anxiously together before allowing them to drop to his side, a wave of neutrality overcoming his entire body. A carefully designed mask if ever you’d seen one. Loki unclipped the robe from around his shoulders and passed it back to you, although you simply threw it over Birgir’s saddle. Pacing softly back and forth, his footprints in the dirt revealing a large hole on the sole of his boot, Loki answered, “My father does not need a reason to be angry at me. My very existence is often enough.”

“Something must have set him off, though?”

“I suppose I mustn’t have cleaned the dishes to his high standards. Or perhaps I knocked a scroll from his desk when I dusted the study.” Loki plastered a wicked smile across his face, so solid that you could, for a moment, forget the terrified look in his eye when he begged you to leave the village. “It matters not.”

You wished to point out that it rather did but decided now was not the time. After all, you were still practically strangers and you recalled his harsh disbelief the last time you attempted to comfort him. It would, you surmised, be a wasted effort so said instead, “I hope you are right. Regardless, there is much to discuss and we have an appointment to keep.”

“With whom?”

“There is a tailor who lives in Osgathe. She will take your measurements and create your suit for the ball.” You circled a thick tree, the bark rough and sharp beneath your flat palm. The grooves twisted around the trunk, swirling back on itself along every branch and stretching all the way to the top. It was beautiful. Natural and free, the way all things ought to be.

Loki’s concern cut through the bitterness bubbling up inside your chest. “Osgathe is over two hours ride each way.” He glanced over his shoulder, in the general direction of his home, as if Odin might spring from the trees and drag him back to his servitude. More to himself than you, Loki muttered, “We’ll be blessed to make it back before the sun sets.”

“I am aware. However, I do not trust anyone nearer to the palace to keep our secret and the rouse requires the finest tailoring around. No one this side of Aumrauth can match her ability, of that you have my word.”

Despite his reservations, Loki understood. He gestured towards Birgir and said, “We best be on our way then, Princess.”

Circling back around the thick trunk a final time, you spared the upper branches a wistful glance. There would always be time to climb a tree in the future. As you neared your trusted horse, you stopped suddenly. Loki stumbled, barely able to stop himself without walking straight into you.

“Wait.” You gently shoved his shoulder, playful but with enough force to push him a few steps back. Rocking on your heels, you said, “You still owe me an apology, Friggason.”

His forehead creased in a tight frown, his mind speeding through a list of possible reasons as to how he had offended you. Coming up short, Loki asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“For mounting my horse. For touching me.”

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips, a brightness of soul that had otherwise been lacking since you’d pulled him from the settlement. After a long second, it faltered and Loki said, “You’re serious.”

“Well, of course. It was a blatant disrespect of my person.”

Loki threw his head back with a harsh laugh. “Unbelievable. You do realise, _Princess,_ that your title does not make you any better than me?”

“It has nothing to do with my title, Loki.” You maintained a level voice, just as your tutors had taught you for difficult diplomatic negotiations. The carefully crafted tone hid the coolness of your words with practised style. “I am averse to touch and deeply loath sharing my personal space with another.”

“I did not… But I have seen you parade around Asgard Main with men and women on your arms, surrounded by your courtiers and weighted upon for every need. You greeted me with a customary salute. You did not seem to care then.”

You turned your back to him although it made it no easier to speak the words. “The images we project to the world are just that: falsities, pretty pictures to curb their talk. I do not burst into flames with each touch but it often feels as if I might. I smile through my discomfort because it is expected. When it is my choice to initiate touch, I can suffer it. When it is not… Well, it does not matter.”

Leaves crunched beneath Loki’s boots as he circled you and you curled your fingers into Birgir’s mane to steady yourself. By the time he passed your periphery, you had collected your wits enough to meet his concern with a smile. He pulled a grubby handkerchief from his trouser pockets and offered it to you. “I am truly sorry for making you uncomfortable, Iliya.”

“Consider it forgiven.” You swung yourself up onto Birgir’s back and shifted in the saddle to make space for Loki. His hesitance was palpable and you almost regretted bringing up your discomfort for it would only increase the awkwardness of the ride to come. Refusing to look down at Loki, you stared off into the dark horizon where the trees merged with the shadows and said, “You cannot walk to Osgathe, Loki. There is space enough for us both.”

“Are you quite certain -”

His chivalry and consideration of your feelings was admirable but, at that moment in time, bordered on the annoying. “Yes, I am. I shall make it an order if necessary.”

Loki protested no further however he took great care when mounting your horse to distance himself from you as much as possible. As you rode, he folded the thick, satin cloak and lodged it between you, more symbolic than practical but a gesture you appreciated nonetheless.

You rode silently through the kingdom to Osgathe, stopping only twice to allow Birgir a short break. When you arrived in the familiar city, you didn’t need to ask for directions. It was a path you knew, built as well as the pathways in Asgard Main and lined with beautiful red and white flowers that reminded you of blood on fresh white snow. A morbid image, perhaps, but striking indeed.

Birgir had barely come to a stop when the door flung open and Sagga stepped out to greet you. She bowed so low that her dark, red hair touched the ground, the enviably long strands pooling around her like fire. “Dear Iliya, it has been too long.”

“Oh, do rise, Sagga.” You hopped from the saddle and rolled your eyes at the ridiculous sight of your oldest friend prostrated at your feet. “You know that you needn’t lower yourself for me.”

As she straightened, her gaze flickered to Loki and her expression became one of intrigue. It was that very same expression which had her banished from the court so many years before and only ever led to trouble. “This is him? I thought I was making a suit for a prince.”

Loki stepped around you and threw Sagga a dazzling smile. He bowed his head and touched her right shoulder then, most shockingly, caught and kissed her hand. You’d never seen such brash behaviour but your dear friend was instantly infatuated. She giggled like a dewy child as she welcomed you both into her home and, for the first time since agreeing to this ridiculous plan, you considered that Loki might actually be able to pull this off.

Great vines spiralled around the wooden beams of her home, dark, spiky leaves peppered with small lilac flowers that you’d created crowns from as children. Every surface was perfectly clean and tidy, her tools laid out in an order you couldn’t quite fathom. Sagga had always been curious that way, able to see patterns that weren’t visible to others but clear as day to her.

Her kitchen was small, barely more than tables constructed around a log fire, and her bedroom sat off to the side. The door was shut but you suspected you would find the same meticulous neatness in there too.

The most spectacular part of her home was, without doubt, the enormous selection of fabrics and materials which adorned the left wall. Once again grouped in patterns you couldn’t discern, her private haberdashery was clearly her pride and joy. The rolls of fabric were trimmed perfectly across the bottom, not a loose or frayed end in sight. The boxes of buttons and lace were stacked precisely and large jars of gems were piled right up to the ceiling, sparkling in the sun, as if she had managed to capture a rainbow. 

That aside, her house was nothing special but it was undeniably hers, the sort of home that she had always dreamed of as a child. While you were beyond proud that Sagga had achieved her ultimate life, it filled you with sadness that you had not been around to witness her blossom.

Sagga’s hand hovered over the small of your back as she gestured towards the window where a pile of pillows sat atop a soft skinned rug. “A cosy corner for you, Princess.”

“I am here as your friend, Sagga, not your ruler.”

You heard her grin in her words, the familiar teasing lilt one you had missed so dearly. “In that case, sit your perky royal arse down while I get to work.”

As you made yourself comfortable, Sagga positioned Loki in the centre of the room. She ran her hands over his chest with the preface of removing his jacket but Loki remained unflustered. He barely reacted to Sagga’s touch and only grinned wickedly in your direction when she turned her back. You treated each smirk with the respect it deserved and rolled your eyes, once so hard that you were certain you saw the inside of your skull.

“So tell me, Loki,” Sagga sang, on her knees, measure tape wrapped around his thighs. “Have you ever been to a palace ball?”

“Many.” His gaze moved systematically around her house as he took in the details of Sagga’s life. You found yourself wondering what conclusions he drew of your friend, and even the conclusions he drew of the wider world. “You would be amazed by how generous drunken nobles can be when it comes to thanking the help.”

His harsh tone was not lost on you. You knew that the nobles around the palace were hardened around the servants but the way he spoke implied far worse behaviour than you imagined. “They treated you badly?”

Loki shared a look with Sagga, sad and knowing, verging on bitter. “Not all of them, Princess.”

“Do not speak in vacuities with me, Loki.”

“All I shall say is that some would give my father a run for his temper.”

A heavy air filled the room after that. Sagga worked through, pointedly filling the silence with meaningless chatter until her measurements were complete. Once done, Loki reached for his jacket but she caught his hand and twirled beneath, fluttering her eyelashes at the dark haired man. “Can you dance, Loki?”

“I regret that it was not on my tutor’s curriculum.”

She practically glowed with excitement. “Allow me to teach you a few moves.” Sagga gave him no chance to protest as she manoeuvred his limbs into position with a gentle tug at the wrists here and a light kick on the shins there.

They stepped awkwardly, Loki’s grace faltering as she led him around the space. A true gentleman, he never once mentioned when she stepped on his toes, although he turned his head aside and flinched at the crushing force. He met your attentive gaze and grinned. “What would you say, Princess? Have we the hang of it?”

“I regret to inform you that you’re doing it all wrong,” you pointed out, unable to hide the equal smile from your face. Truly, Sagga had never been great at dancing but what little skills she possessed had clearly diminished over the years away from court. And Loki… well, you believed quite easily that he had never danced before. Not to say he didn’t have potential; his posture was straight and his long limbs lent themselves to powerful, leading strides. If only Sagga would allow him to lead.

Sagga spun from Loki’s hold and shoved her hands on her hips, the challenge clear. “Up you get then, dear. Show us how it should be done if you know so well.”

Of course, you did know better. You had been trained from childhood in all manner of dance styles from across your kingdom and the next. Your feet had bled in the pursuit of perfection – a fact Sagga knew perfectly well, as she had been the one to clean them.

You pushed yourself to your feet and joined Loki in the centre of the room, all too aware of his closeness. Your eyes lingered on his hands, uncertain but calm in the company of your friends. It was just dancing, with a relative stranger nonetheless – although that thought did little to ease your anxiety. You drew a long, steady breath and moved to close the gap but, practically imperceptible, Loki shook his head.

He stepped away to slip on his jacket. “Perhaps another day, Princess. It is getting late and we should be on our way if we are to pass through the forest before night falls.”

For a long moment, all you saw was the swirling green of his eyes, warm and understanding. It ignited a feeling you hadn’t felt for a very long time, a notion of being seen and feeling safe, secure. In truth, it scared you. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

Turning to Sagga, you clapped your hands on her arms and squeezed gently through the soft material of her dress. “I appreciate you doing this for me.”

“I shall write to you when the garments are complete and ready for fitting.”

“Until then, dear friend.”

Sagga led you out to where you found Birgir nibbling at an apple from her tree. If it were any creature but yours, she would have shooed it away but for your prized horse she simply rolled her eyes. Reaching up, Sagga took your hand and said, “Ride safe.”

“We shall.”

You kept your eyes locked on the road ahead as you rode away, it always too difficult to leave your friend. Birdsong filled the late afternoon air as you travelled, until Loki finally broke the peace to ask, “Why was Sagga banished from the palace?”

“That is a story for another time. Suffice to say, it was my fault.”

“You visit her often?”

“My father ensures that I am kept busy so that I do not have the time to. Between classes and diplomatic councils, my schedule is tight. However, I make room to see Sagga when I can. There are lessons less important to my education for which excuses can be made to explain my absence. After all, when will I ever need to know the details of Asgard’s military history when I am surrounded by great warriors?”

“You skip your lessons once a month? You absolute rebel.”

Loki was merely jesting but you found yourself retorting, “Well, what else would you have me do instead? I long since had the mischief drilled out of me.”

“Oh, Princess, we are all capable of great mischief if we put our minds to it.”

You glanced over your shoulder, eyebrow raised in amusement. “Is that so? Perhaps you could teach me, trickster.”

“I do think that deceiving your entire kingdom into believing that I am of noble birth is quite a solid place. Would you not agree?”

It was a fair point, although it did feel more like a manipulation and lie than any true kind of light hearted fun. Your father’s voice played in your mind, demands of duty and sensibility overriding your desire to explore the possibilities with Loki.

Levelling your expression, not missing the slight frown around the corners of Loki’s eyes, you turned back to the road ahead. As serious as the setting sun, close enough on Birgir’s saddle to feel Loki tense behind you, you muttered gently, “I am concerned of what might happen when I return you to your father’s.”

“You needn’t worry, Princess.”

“And yet that is precisely what I find myself doing.”

“I assure you there is nothing you can do.”

That was far from the truth. There were many options. You could provide Loki shelter elsewhere in the kingdom for the night, or even right up to the night of the ball, if necessary. You could order a squadron of guards to arrest Odin or hire a bounty hunter to bring you his head. From what Loki had said of his father, and from the small glimpse you had caught yourself, that didn’t seem too extreme a reaction.

“Whatever you are considering, Iliya, please don’t.” Loki’s exhaustion weighed heavily on your chest. The bright and cheery nature you’d seen sparks of this afternoon faded into darkness. He tapped his fingers against the outside of his thighs, out of time with Birgir’s steps, and sighed deeply. “It will only make things worse.”

“Is there nothing -”

He shook his head fiercely. “No. I can manage this alone, thank you.”

Sensing that was the end of the discussion, you rode in silence back to his home where you dropped him off around the corner and waved him goodbye. Loki plastered a grin across his face but it was hollow and vanished the moment he lost you to the shadows. He hovered outside the door to his home for a moment, shook his hands at his sides and then threw his shoulders back like a soldier painfully aware he was about to face a losing battle.

A bright orange glow illuminated the pathway as he slipped inside and then there was nothing until a sudden crash. Odin yelled. Glass shattered. Five long minutes passed before a tiny flame flickered in the far corner of the house, in an out building that looked uncomfortably like a converted stable.

You watched Loki’s silhouette against the light, felt his pain with each careful stretch as he removed his clothes and tossed them aside. Your heart clenched in sorrow and anger as you reluctantly withdrew to return to the palace – hoping that your own late arrival would be met with a less aggressive reception.

Creeping into the royal grounds through your usual side gate, you waited for the changing of the guards and then snuck up into your room without detection. It was a lucky break for which you thanked the gods. Not bothering to undress, you laid on your bed and stared up at the ceiling, unable to shake Loki from your mind.

Tomorrow you would send a healer to the settlement, you decided. Under the guise of a standard health check up, they could survey Loki’s injuries and quell your fears. If you were lucky, the results might also quieten the guilt you felt for standing by as he faced Odin alone.

Well, you thought, if all went to plan then in little over a month you would be married and then, if Odin ever dared to lay a hand on Loki again, you could have him shot. Or dangled off a cliff. Or maybe fed to the bilgesnipes. So many tempting options and you fell asleep picturing each one in beautiful, technicolour detail.


	3. Chapter 3

You smoothed the soil over with a broad stroke and drew a circle around the roses with your finger. At perfect intervals around the band, you made small marks and then joined them together with swirling arches. Not just a beautiful design, it was a protective charm to keep the garden healthy. A tingle ran through your hand as you invoked the natural magic of the earth and a peacefulness fell across your mind.

This was where you belonged, out in the gardens, free to be among nature, not cooped up in the depths of the palace. Sadly, your father had other ideas. Like a dragon guarding its treasure, he believed that a ruler should sit safe and secure within their keep and over see every single aspect of life within the kingdom. While you didn’t disagree that the people needed a strong ruler, you saw no reason why you couldn't conduct official business under the bright blue sky and among the flowers.

Systematically working your way along the flower beds, you tended your garden and drew on Asgard’s inherent magic until all of your precious plants were blessed. You sat back against a marble pot and closed your eyes, dug your fingers into the ground and breathed slow. Your heartbeat slowed and you could almost feel the life force of the earth flowing into you.

You pictured the essence of Asgard, a free and fluid mass of sparkling colours, weightless, unbound, and drew it into yourself until it surrounded you like a soft, fur blanket. It filled your body with light, connected you to everything around you – your flowers, the trees, the bugs underground, the beasts in the sky. A feeling of wholeness, of content and pure joy embraced your being and it was -

“What are you doing?”

You shot upright and wiped your dirty hands on the rich fabric of your skirts, ready to deflect the nosey onlookers attention towards your actions. However, realising that it was only Loki, your defences dropped slightly. In the past few weeks, you had seen him almost every day to prepare for the ball.

Although you were the teacher, covering topics from politics and intergalactic ceremony to fabric choices and basic dance steps, you had learned a great deal of the young man in return. It hadn’t taken long to realise that he was smart. Incredibly so. And devious to boot.

Far faster than half your noble ‘friends’, Loki retained enormous amounts of information – names, dates, relationships which had take you years to remember – and was able to weave these titbits into conversation with an almost concerning ease. He spoke of Alfheim royalty as if he had known them from childhood. Loki was, simply put, a natural when it came to weaving words and manipulating others.

What you had also realised over the course of these lessons was that he had a wit sharper than a knife and, beneath the shell of sarcasm, a softness that showed itself only when he was at his most relaxed. It was only in the last few days that had come to the forefront as you moved away from the heavy, boring facts and began to speak of art and music and literature.

Loki wasn’t as well read as you – naturally, he hadn’t grown up with access to the largest library on your world – but his analysis of texts and his stupendous ability to twist the words of masters into something hilarious or heart breaking was remarkable. For every hour you spent together, you found yourself opening up to him more and more and it was this budding, trusting relationship that made you feel safe enough to speak without fear of judgement.

“There is magic in the earth.”

“I know that. My mother taught me to draw power from Asgard and manipulate it.” To demonstrate his point, Loki reached over his head and touched the twisting stalk of the large plant above. The air grew warmer and suddenly the plant was growing, the long stalk bending over to lower the beautiful, pink flower to your level. Loki gently cupped the flower and plucked the pretty bud from the stem, his fingers shimmering green as he handed you the head.

“Incredible,” you muttered, inhaling the sweet scent of the flower.

This wasn’t the first time you’d witnessed magic but it was the closest you’d ever experienced it. On the rare occasions that your father allowed sorcerers into the court, they were there to simply perform party tricks for guests. The sort of low level magic that any student of the arts could master. Stronger enchantresses were brought in to place charms around the palace, to keep it safe and protected but they moved through the chambers at night, unheard and unseen by all around.

Loki shifted beside you, wringing his hands in the way he always seemed to when he grew nervous. As the green shimmer faded, you noted that his skin became tight and dry, stretched uncomfortably over his bones like a thin, cracking sheet of aged paper. He shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered, “To affect the world, you must wrangle the will of nature. It requires a sacrifice of the self.”

“Does it hurt?”

He assured you that it did not. “It merely drains me. Moving energy around a system is one thing. Manipulating it into something else entirely requires discipline and strength of mind that most do not possess.”

“But you do?”

“Naturally.”

You rolled your eyes, constantly amazed by his self assurance. It was, mostly, a façade – an overcompensation for the suffering he had endured – but there was a genuine belief in his abilities beneath it, a fundamental knowledge of his own capabilities that no one was able to shake. “Can you move?”

“I can but only if it is necessary.” Even as he spoke, Loki pushed himself upright, ready to move on your command. It was admirable but also quite saddening that he would so willingly put the comfort of another above his own well being. Both Odin and the royal court had a lot to answer for there.

You gently touched his shoulder, the rough leather of his jacket cracking and flaking beneath your fingertips, and encouraged him to stay put. “There is no need. The day is beautiful, we can stay out here. Besides, our lesson today is a short one.”

Loki nodded. His entire body sagged in relief against the marble pot and his head fell back. The afternoon sun warmed your faces as the wind rustled the bushes which hid you from the prying eyes of the court. “I am ready whenever you are, Princess.”

“First, close your eyes.”

He shot you a suspicious glance but did as you ordered anyway. The sunlight illuminated his long lashes and the image of snowflakes caught on them came unexpectedly to mind. You pushed it aside and continued, “Now, take a deep breath.”

Once again, Loki followed your instructions. His chest rose and he held your breath until you told him to release. You repeated this a few times, enthralled as the colour slowly returned to his cheeks and the sharp cracks in his skin faded away.

Loki indulged you for a further five minutes before, strength recovered, he suddenly sat up and swung his long legs around to face you head on. Eyebrow crooked, he asked, “Do you have planned anything else for my lesson today? Surprising though it may be, I am actually quite skilled at breathing. I have practised it my entire life.”

“You are quite testing at times, Loki.”

“So you have told me before. Will you answer my question, Princess?”

“You were exhausted and it seemed prudent to allow you to rest. We have covered everything I can conceivably imagine you might need for the ball anyway.”

“If you had nothing left to teach me, why not simply cancel our meeting? I am certain there are many other nobles clamouring for your attention in the run up to the ball.”

You became very interested in the flower, fascinated by the way the petals still seemed to shimmer in the afternoon sun, somehow still holding a fraction of the magic Loki imbued it with. You ran your thumb over the silky surface and said softly, “There are very few people around the palace that are honest with me, Loki. Even fewer that are capable of holding an interesting conversation. I find your companionship refreshing.”

Half expecting him to throw a biting retort back, you were surprised when he simply nodded in response. You sat in peaceful silence for a while longer until the clouds began to converge overhead. No longer drained of energy, Loki jumped to his feet and offered you a hand, dropping it the moment you hesitated.

“It is nothing personal,” you apologised. You wiped your hands on your skirts again, despite them long since being free of mud, and hid them between the many layers of fabric.

“And I am not offended,” Loki assured you. “I do have one question, though.”

“You know that you may speak freely around me.”

“On the night of the ball, I assume we are to dance.”

You pursed your lips together. “Did you not hear? My father has decided that I am to dance with _every_ eligible noble in the kingdom. Apparently, he and his advisors believe that it will be the easiest way for me to establish a connection with my suitors.”

Not immune to your sharp tone, Loki leaned backwards. It was a subtle shift but plain enough to be noticeable. You ran a hand through your hair, spitefully pleased to have pulled it free from the tight plaits that your hand maidens insisted upon, and sighed. “Please, excuse my bitterness. I was ambushed over breakfast with the news. I have yet to truly process the request.”

Loki grew pensive for a moment before a charming wickedness filled his eyes. “Perhaps you should treat it like a battle.”

“I do not understand your meaning.”

“Wear your thickest armour and protect yourself that way. You will be unable to feel any unwanted touch through the metal plates and it might even scare away a few potential suitors.” You couldn’t quite tell whether he was joking or not – that infuriating smirk made it impossible to discern – but the teasing lilt brought a smile to your face nonetheless. That in return made Loki’s green eyes shimmer even brighter. “Now you see my true genius.”

“You are a ridiculous man, Friggason.”

And yet, even as you shook your head, you found yourself considering his idea a little too closely. While a full suit of armour was completely out of bounds there were many ways you could potentially go with the idea. Perhaps it was not so crazy after all and it would certainly frustrate your father, which was always a bonus.

Pushing the thought aside for now, you returned to Loki’s original question as you began to walk through the gardens. “Regardless, you are correct. You and I will have to dance.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No more so than dancing with a hundred others.” The fall of his expression did not go unnoticed and for some reason you found yourself compelled to ease his pain. You reached out to touch his arm but faltered, unable to close the gap. Instead, you spun around so that you were facing him, walking backwards, and smiled. Bouncing with each step, you added, “I shall be glad for your presence, Loki. And of all the dances, it is yours that I look forward to most.”

He scoffed as the first drops of rain began to fall. “That is not as kind a compliment as you imagine, Princess. Not when the bar against which I am judged is low indeed.”

That was a fair argument, you had to admit. “I suppose you are right. Well, how about this. On the night of the cursed ball instead of making us both miserable with a dance, why don’t we sneak away to the gardens. We can lounge around the fountains and recite poetry under the moonlight. That sounds far more fun.”

“What of your father’s order?”

You threw your hands in the air, utterly nonplussed with following his damned orders. You had resigned yourself to doing your duty for your kingdom but by the Norns you would do it in your own way instead of bending beneath his disappointment. “To Hel with them.”

Loki pushed the damp strands of hair from his face and grinned. “I like this side of you, Iliya.”

For reasons beyond your comprehension, Loki’s words filled your chest with warmth. You matched his wild grin and twirled in the rain, the drops now falling hard and fast. Twirling in the downpour, your dizziness of much amusement to Loki who was content to walk a straight path through the gardens, you felt, for the first time in many months, or possibly even years, truly free.

In your silliness, you tripped over an uneven stone. Loki was there in an instant to catch you, his hands on your waist as he held you steady. Raindrops rolled down his sharp cheeks, guided your gaze to his lips.

Breathing heavily, you clung to his arms, held yourself up on his slender figure until the world stopped spinning around you. Loki’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and his throat bobbed, a strange nervousness hanging over you both. This was different, strange but not necessarily bad.

Water droplets gathered on your own eyelashes, blurred your vision but gave you the clarity you needed. You immediately let your hands drop and he slowly stepped away, feeling a noticeable absence of weight where his hands had sat on your waist.

“I… Thank you.” He nodded sharply and you fell into step together, side by side but separated by a more than respectful distance. As the palace gates drew nearer, Loki fell behind and lowered his head. Necessary to maintain the illusion of being nothing more than another servant around the palace but an action that left you deeply troubled.

In these few short weeks, Loki had become a better friend to you than any of the other nobles around the court. He made you laugh, challenged you, didn’t criticise you for your indulging your more childish whims. To be reminded of the harsh reality that blocked your friendship filled you with anger.

However, as much as it bothered you, the distance was necessary for your plan to continue. He peeled off without another word but caught you eye before rounding the corner to give a small farewell wave. Then he ducked into the servants’ entrance and vanished from view. It wasn’t as if you would never see him again, quite the opposite, but as you climbed the winding stairs to your quarters you found yourself missing Loki’s company already.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.


	4. Chapter 4

“Take your do-gooding elsewhere. I might only have one eye left but I can see through you. You won’t guilt me into giving my hard earned gold to you. Feed the ungrateful orphans yourself if you care so much.”

You stepped back on the heels of your boots as Odin slammed the door in your face. Certainly not the reaction you had imagined but, then again, completely fitting of the terrible shadow of a man you had created within your mind. By your side, one of the royal guard tugged at the hilt of his sword and, although it would bring you much joy to see him run the old bastard through, you lifted a gloved finger to stop him. You could deal with Odin alone.

Three short knocks on the door brought Odin back into the open. He opened his mouth in a snarl that reminded you oddly of a gridaar; small creatures that latched onto tribes of bilgesnipe, scavenged on their left overs and roared along with the vicious creatures but were inevitably trampled to death. The thought brought a smile to your face.

“You misunderstand me, sir. I am -”

“You have the gall to insult me in my own home!”

“Sir, there is no need -”

“If you seek to con me of my riches -”

A slow, steady breath did little to calm your rising anger. It was bad enough that your father had backed you into a corner and sent you off around the kingdom to hand deliver invitations to the hundreds of eligible suitors, forcing you to feign interest in each pitiful man. At first you hadn’t minded, believing it a chance to interact with your people and discuss the true issues they faced.

However, as the day passed and the list of suitors proved to be considerable more skewed towards rich landowners and minor nobles, your fuse had grown short with stuck up men that believed your presence on their doorstep already signalled a willingness to marry.

Naturally, none had been so rude as Odin. They were all at least people of decent background and temper, schooled to act accordingly with the protocols that the royalty demanded. Some were even decent and one invitee was so interesting that you spent a full ten minutes discussing the latest poetry from Vaniheim over a cup of floral tea. Not one, though, was able to convince you that marriage was a sensible idea.

After such a long day smiling through gritted teeth and accepting the insincere compliments of the male population of the kingdom, it took every inch of your control not to snap right there. Stiffer than before but still polite, you lifted a hand to cut him off. “If you would just listen to me.”

“Learn your manners, you tarted trollop! Speak when spoken to and never while a man is talking!”

That was what broke you. You stepped forward and grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt, forced your way into his home. The wooden walls of his home shuddered as you slammed his large frame against the planks. Pressing the point of the small dagger you hid within your sleeve into his side, you hissed, “I am Princess Iliya of Asgard, daughter of Bur, crowned heir to the throne and warrior of the highest order. You shall listen to me or I will run you through and feed your miserable, fat corpse to the palace pigs.”

Odin’s eyes went wide and for the first time since you’d arrived on his doorstep did he actually take a single moment to look upon your face with any real attention. Mouth opening and closing like the fish in the garden pond, eye practically bugging out of its socket, he glanced over your shoulder to the guard (he would be no help and in fact seemed to be quite enjoying the performance), then whimpered, “Princess… Your highness… I… I did not realise.”

Plastering a pleasant smile on your face, you stepped back and wiped the blade with your handkerchief; it wasn’t bloody but you simply hoped to make clear your disdain of having touched him with it. “That much is abundantly clear. Where are your sons?”

He bellowed for Thor, and notably neglected to make any mention of Loki – a fact which angered you far more than his disrespect. You couldn’t mention it, though, lest you risk revealing the grand deception you and he had planned.

Heavy footsteps padded down the hallway before a Thor appeared. A farmer of some kind, you suspected, given by his muscular physique. His blond hair hung loosely around his face, lacking the neat plaited details which you admired in Loki’s own. His clothes were new – newer than his brother’s at least, and considerably less holey – and he looked you over with a confidence that could easily have been mistaken as nobility.

You half expected him to be as much of a brute as his father however Thor quickly fell to his knee and thumped his hand against his shoulder, greeting you with the respect that all others in the kingdom had. “Your highness, it is an honour and a surprise to receive you into our home.”

“Rise.”

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

From your satchel, made from the finest leather and stamped somewhat obnoxiously with the royal seal, you pulled an invitation and handed it Thor. “The names of yourself and your brother were pulled from the palace records and, as reputable citizens of Asgard, you are both invited to attend a ball one week hence.”

“For which cause is the ball in aid of?”

Your cheeks grew stiff from maintaining such a tight smile. Imagining that you had ever had any care or belief in the words which you spoke, after a day of reciting the rhetoric around the kingdom they were now little more than ash on your tongue. “My father, the king.” You glanced to Odin, pleased to watch him pale at the mention of your bloodline once again. “He believes that it will be fate’s wish that I shall meet my future husband. He believes that I should have the chance to marry for love rather than a political union and we hope that the Norns shall bless me with good fortune that night.”

“He is a wise man.”

Biting back a sigh, you simply nodded in agreement. Thor was everything that your father might have hoped for in a suitor. Strong, attractive, polite. So eager to please, easy to mould into a carbon copy of himself. A ruler which he could control, could “guide” through council sessions and major decisions even after you took the throne. Even if he had a heart as good as Loki’s, if he too took after his mother and not his father, Thor wouldn’t stand a chance against the king and all the freedoms you desired would be lost to you.

In the corner of your eye, you caught movement in the shadows. Loki. Hovering in the hallway, just out of his father’s eyeline, he met your gaze with a wicked grin. You pursed your lips, refusing to rise to the challenge, and turned your attention back to Thor. “To ensure that all suitors receive a fair share of my attention, it shall be a masked ball. Perhaps it is for the best in your case.”

Thor frowned and rubbed his forearm self-consciously. “Princess?”

“Oh! Do not misunderstand me. Trust that I am not suggesting you to be an unattractive man.” Thor’s expression, although still confused, brightened. “I merely mean to say that if I do not know it is you then I cannot hold the attitude of your father against you.”

Continuing to ignore Odin entirely – although judging by Loki’s amused expression, his red face must have been quite a sight to behold – you looked up at Thor to ask, “And of your brother? The palace records do show that you are not the only child here.”

“The boy is out.”

You turned to Odin, once again fingering the handle of your dagger. “Speak only when you are spoken to, sir. My question was not directed at you.”

“I do believe you asked of me, Princess?”

How you had missed Loki’s voice. It had only been a few days since last you spoke but, after word reached your father that you had once again been caught by the palace guard sneaking back into the palace after an unsanctioned – and, in his eyes more serious, unguarded – trip to the outer villages, you had been under strict watch. You could hardly bathe without someone taking the action to your father’s attention and you hadn’t dared risk your familiarity with Loki being discovered.

Like silk against your skin, he lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head. “I am Loki, son of Fri- Odin. It is a pleasure, Princess.”

“Rise, Loki.” You met his gaze with a softness and plucked another invitation from your bag. As you handed it over, you said, “If you’d be so kind, I require assistance with the saddle on my horse.”

“My son Thor is quite the horseman,” Odin spoke up. “I am certain that he -”

You spun on your heels with such speed that even the guardsman by your side stiffened. He gripped the hilt of his sword and did not soften even after you raised a finger to calm him. “I should have you tongue for your impertinence. I did not ask for your opinion nor do I desire it. You would do well to learn your place. Loki, if you would be so kind.”

Having had the foresight to undo a few buckles Brigir’s saddle when you first stopped outside of Odin’s house, you and Loki stood on opposite sides of your beautiful horse and began to tighten them once again. Brigir neighed contently as Loki ran his fingers through the steed’s mane. Even if you hadn’t known Loki, you would have trusted him then; you trusted no one’s opinion more on people than your horse’s. Silly, perhaps, but he had never guided you badly.

“You should not have antagonised my father, Princess.”

“How you have not stabbed the bounderish bastard in his sleep is beyond me.”

“I am serious, Iliya. He could ruin everything.” You looked up and met his gaze, the seriousness a physical smack in the face. You had the luxury of being able to prick Odin’s ego and then walk away, to turn your back on the man without consequences. Loki didn’t have that luxury.

“How have you been, Loki?”

He shook his head, refocusing his attention on the readjusted buckles. The bustle of the village, combined with a less than subtle, interested chatter of nearby locals, filled the silence between you. Truthfully, Loki’s lack of desire to even lie about the fact spoke clearer than perhaps any words could have done.

Brigir lolled his head towards Loki, his gentle neighing soothing both of your anxieties. You truly believed that he was the only one in the palace that cared for your – and now Loki’s – well being. “He likes you.”

“What’s not to like?” Loki smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Quick to shift the conversation back onto you, he glanced down at your gloved hands and, for a brief moment, that bright spark returned to his gaze. “These are beautiful crafted, indeed. Almost as beautiful as the hands that wear them. Practically armour.”

A smile pricked at the edges of your lips and you allowed the teasing compliment to pass. Uncomfortably aware of how next door’s gardener was edging closer to listen to your conversation, you said lightly, “Any well bred lady should wear gloves in public. That is standard etiquette.”

Loki hummed thoughtfully. He shot a glance at the sneaky gardener, barely sparing him a second of attention so not to be caught in the act of staring, then asked as he stepped away from your horse, “Have you all your supplies for the next stage of your journey? I hear the road to Osgathe is tiring.”

“In fact we have already completed the ride to Osgathe.” You reached over Brigir’s back and tapped one of the larger bags attached to the saddle. “The peoples of the village were most pleased to be invited to the ball. It seems they have a wonderful tailor to supply them with suitable outfits.”

He bowed his head but the dark hair that fell around his face did little to disguise the knowing sparkle in his eye. “Well, I needn’t keep you any longer, princess. I wish you a safe journey back to the palace and thank you for your generous invitation to the celebration. I recommend you avoid the crossroads outside Asgard Main on your journey back. I have heard tales that one might meet devils there after dark.”

You waited for Loki to step away before swinging up onto the saddle. Managing the many thick layers of fabric which constituted your skirts was not a task for the weak however years of experience allowed you to mount your steed with a grace that left all the villagers staring. The young guardsman accompanying you hurried back to his own horse, still regarding Loki with suspicion. However, you noted that he looked upon every villager the same way so took no real notice of his prying gaze. Chin raised, you said, “I do not fear devils.”

“Perhaps you should. They may be nearer than you think.”

You glanced over his shoulder to Odin’s large figure blocking the door of his home. Regret weighed heavily in your gut as hundreds of possible scenarios played out in your mind, each more terrible than the last as he took his anger and embarrassment out on his younger son.

Bringing your closed fist to your chest, you nodded down then opened your palm to Loki. “May you face your own with valour and dignity. Remain safe, son of Frigga. You needn’t fear your devils for much longer.”

***

Turning up to the stars, you focused on one particular shining body: the distant, planet of Kol’i. You didn’t know much about the world, other than it had once been ruled by giants. You often wondered if their civilisation still thrived or whether they had fallen into ruin after Asgard banished it from the coalition of realms. That wasn’t how the historic scrolls described the events of millennia past but the true story was clear to read between the painstakingly depicted ‘truths’.

Would it be like Midgard: under developed, run by savages that looked to Asgard and saw straight past the reality beneath their noses? Perhaps the peoples of Kol’i saw your kingdom and deemed it dangerous, refused to interact with the descendants of the brutal soldiers that spread through the quadrant and brought peace to the galaxy through subjugation. The system had changed over the years; the partnerships with other planets were fair, democratic. Nothing like the initial imperialism that your ancestors had favoured. But those on Kol’i, if they still survived, wouldn’t know that.

The shining purple dot passed through the night sky at a predictable pace, enabled you to track time in an otherwise dark and empty setting as you waited for Loki. The thick branches of the tree supported you as you rested your eyes, savoured the sweetness of disobeying your father’s orders and sneaking away from the palace. Soon, you would be able to come and go as you pleased.

“Iliya? Princess?”

“Up here.”

Loki glanced up to the tree tops but was unable to spot your shadow among the thick branches. You attempted to guide him to you by voice alone, although it did little good. In fact, you ended up losing sight of the dark haired man yourself. Eventually, although not ideal, this supposed to be a clandestine meeting and all, Loki conjured a light in his palm and the trees were illuminated by a dim green burst.

Gravitating towards your tree, Loki took a seat staunchly at the base and allowed the green ball of light to flicker away until only the distant light of the moons lit the cross roads. “If it is all the same, princess, I shall remain on the ground.”

There was a weight to his words and you imagined his sorrows to be so heavy that Loki couldn’t have climbed up to meet you in the tree tops even if he had wanted to. Guilty for feeling such levity compared to his obvious woes, you clambered down and landed gently beside him. Smoothing your cloak beneath you, you asked, “Your magical abilities are impressive. Does such a trick tire you more or less than controlling plants with your will?”

His head lolled back against the fat tree trunk, releasing a huff of… amusement? Exhaustion? Either way, Loki ignored the out you so kindly offered and admitted, “That spell is in no way the reason for my ire this eve.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?” You asked despite truthfully expecting him to refuse, to shake his head and smile that dazzling grin, to get straight down to your reason for being out there in the middle of the night. While you had grown closer over the past weeks, you were still practically strangers. It was no reflection on you if he chose to keep his hurts private.

Loki turned to you, serious as he determined your intentions. Whatever he found brought a sad smile to his face. Slowly a green ripple spread across his body. It started around his eyes, small lines of power marbling beneath his light skin, like a breeze on a pond. Further it ventured, creeping below the collar of that tattered jacket and eventually reappearing over his hands. The shimmer lingered for a moment and then vanished, revealing the truth beneath the mask.

A sharp laugh passed his chapped lips before he could catch it. “He took my invitation from me not five minutes after you left. When I dared to try and take it back, I became the punching bag of the day’s frustrations.”

He winced at your gloved touch, the purple flesh around his eye swollen and sensitive. “Loki, I…”

“I warned you what would happen if you provoked him.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Loki knocked your hand aside but the action lacked force, lacked anger. “It is nothing worse than I have received before now.”

That knowledge did little to alleviate your guilt. It clawed at your insides, made you sick and angry. So angry that you genuinely considered the possibility of signing an execution order for the beast of a man that dared to use his own son as a punching bag. “I should have held my tongue. Please, tell me how I can remedy this.”

“We continue as planned. Odin will no doubt spend the week fussing over Thor in preparation for the ball and I shall use his distraction to set into motion the next stages of our plan.” He glanced at your satchel and asked, “Sagga has completed the suit?”

You nodded and moved to hand it over. However, caught between the neckline of your cloak and a low hanging branch, the strap of the satchel suddenly tangled around your neck. The harder you tugged at the strap, the worse it became. It dug deeply into your throat and your panic began to rise. You lashed out as Loki caught your wrist but soon realised his motives when he plucked free the dagger you hid beneath the billowing sleeves.

With a neat cut he sliced the strap and all but tossed the bag aside, shifting onto his knees in front of you. He released his grip on your wrist with a sharp start, dropped the blade into your free hand. Trapped in his intense gaze, those bright green eyes the only thing you could see, you fought to match your ragged breathing with his.

“That’s it. You’re alright now.”

You sunk back against the tree, buried your face in your hands. You stayed that way for a long moment before your composure snapped back into place. “Yes. Of course. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

When you closed your eyes, you could still feel the pressure on your neck, tears long since dried on your cheeks. The wicked voices in the corner of your mind continued to whisper insidious taunts as your stared out into the forest but you had long since grown accustomed to ignoring them. No, what bothered you more was the concern with which Loki met your gaze. Firmly, leaving no room for misinterpretation, you said, “I do not wish to discuss it.”

On your feet, you paced around the thick tree twice before coming to a stop in front of Loki. He hadn’t moved an inch since you’d drawn back. Curling your fingers a few times, you then placed a hand on his shoulder and encouraged him up. Back to him, unable to meet that intense gaze, you muttered, “I must return to the palace before the guards check in on my room and realise it is not but pillows in my bed. Everything you need for the ball is in the satchel. Should Odin find it -”

“He will not. All shall go as planned and I will see you again on the night of the ball. Do not concern yourself with my safety, princess.”

“I am deeply concerned for your safety, Loki. More now than ever. Please, if you come to further blows with Odin, seek me out.”

“If only it were so easy.”

“There’s a hidden door to my chambers in the west wing of the palace. Behind the painting of my mother on Alfheim. Tug on the lower left corner and it shall pull free from the wall. It is intended as an emergency escape route but if it worsens and you need a pillow on which to lay your head…”

You heard the wicked smirk curl slowly at Loki’s lips. “You offer me a place in your bed? Iliya, I thought I made it clear from the start that I am not interested in a physical relationship.”

“You are an absolute devil, Friggason. Be safely on your way. I look forward to the ball for your company alone.” You turned to gauge his response through the shadows only to find the clearing empty, a flickering green light in the distance.


	5. Chapter 5

“I honestly did not expect to see you before tomorrow’s festivities.”

Loki crept out of the shadows, mildly impressed that you had spotted him so quickly, and took a tentative step out onto your balcony. You bathed in the moonlight, its touch far more gentle than that of the sun’s. Beneath you, small fires glittered throughout the city like stars plucked from the heavens, flickering slowly as if they mourned not being free among the dark sky. It was both beautiful and sad.

You rolled onto your side, the stone ledge thick enough for you to comfortably stretch out on without fearing that you might fall. Loki, however, did not share your confidence. He wrung his hands as a breeze wafted your light night dress into the shadows, a billowing sheet of white against the black, visibly concerned that you too might be blown away.

To ease his fears, you sat upright and dangled your feet inside the balcony, bare feet slotted between the ornate marble stands that held the seat in place. He stepped forward as you wobbled, steadying your centre, ready to catch you despite himself. A sweet if unnecessary gesture that meant all the more considering his aversion to heights.

Splaying your fingers atop the smooth stone, you asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“May I sit?”

“You may do whatever you please here, Loki.”

He nodded graciously and took a seat with his back against a large stone pillar. It did little to ease his discomfort but his shoulders softened as he closed his eyes, blocking out the view below. “I died today.”

An integral part of the plan was that Loki pass as a noble. For all of your father’s boastings, he would never have allowed you to marry a commoner. The first phase had been to prime Loki with all the knowledge he might need and he had absorbed the information like a sponge. The second phase required new clothes from Sagga – which she had wonderfully provided – and a modest villa in which he could stay after the ball. That had also been easy to locate, given that your forefathers had requisitioned much property across the kingdom to gift to loyal supporters; all it took was a secret visit to the chroniclers to edit the records and put a small piece of land in Loki’s name.

The final stages of the scheme before the ball relied on Loki disappearing from his old life. For all of Odin’s anger and resentment towards his youngest son, he would have noticed if he married into the crown. The few with whom he worked among the household would also note his absence if a good enough reason wasn’t provided. And, after much discussion, you had reached the conclusion that the best excuse for not showing would be death.

You hadn’t asked the details of the facade, deciding it was better that you didn’t know how he planned to fake his death. Now, looking upon his truly shaken expression, you wondered if perhaps you should have fought for another solution. Dying, fake though it may have been, appeared to have hit Loki harder than either of you ever thought it might.

You hopped off the balcony edge and took a seat opposite from Loki, legs curled beneath you. You reached out, hand hovering over his before you drew it back, grateful that he hadn’t seen the awkward gesture. “Your preparations went off perfectly, then?”

“Indeed.”

“You do not seem quite as pleased as I assumed you would be.”

Loki fixed his gaze on you, those deep emerald eyes, usually so full of mischief and emotion, currently hardened and empty. It was such a harsh contrast with the man you had come to know and left you deeply unsettled. “My brother, he took it far harder than I imagined.”

Your chest grew uncomfortably tight. “I’m sorry, Loki.”

“He will get over it.”

You shook your head, once again overcome by the urge to reach out and comfort him. No matter the desire, you still couldn’t reconcile touching him but settled for a compromise. Shuffling across the cold stones that lined the floor, you took a seat beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his skin against your bare arms.

Hands in your lap, the light fabric of your nightgown covering how you picked at your nail beds, you said softly, “I meant that you didn’t know he cared, that he never stood up for you against your father and showed you how much he would miss you. No one should spend their feeling that alone, that unloved.”

Heavy boots stomped down the hallway as the guards changed over their positions. It was long beyond the middle of the night so none opened the door to check on you for fear of waking their princess. Loki shifted into the shadows regardless.

“How did you do it?” The question fell from your lips before you could catch it, the silence too heavy and your curiosity too piqued not to know. “How did you ‘die’?”

“Valiantly,” Loki replied, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Father had me accompany Thor to the tailors in the village over to collect his attire for the ball. I led him astray along the way, straight onto the mercenaries’ path.”

You whacked his shoulder with the back of your hand, clicking your tongue. “That was incredibly reckless! Do you not know how vicious those pirates can be?”

“Of course I do,” he sneered, not unkindly. “Why do you think I chose that way?”

“You are alright? Truthfully?”

Relief washed through you when Loki nodded. “I am unharmed. I have dealt with the pirates before. For a few gold coins, I was able to convince them to stage an attack. In protecting my brother, I was to be mortally wounded. A stab wound to the chest. It is remarkable how convincing a little pig’s blood can be.”

It was an extraordinary tale, one you were having difficulty believing. Loki, happy to demonstrate, held out a hand, a green shimmer spreading over his skin. Even in the moonlight you could see the deadly pale crawl up his arm, his skin growing tight around the muscles. You felt the chill spread through his body and watched as his chest became still.

“Stop it. I’ve seen enough.”

As quickly as he had conjured the illusion, it vanished. He met your gaze, concerned. “Iliya?”

“I appreciate the demonstration,” you replied stiffly.

“And yet you are angry with me.”

“I simply did not enjoy watching you die.”

A hundred emotions or more flickered across Loki’s expression before the moonlight smoothed them over into a single, curious glance. “It was merely an illusion.”

“Real or not, it is not easy to watch the life fade from a friend.” Loki held your gaze for a long moment, something soft yet hot flickering between you. Keen to move on, to sweep the unfamiliar feeling away, you asked, “You settled comfortably into the villa? I regret that there was no time to send a page to clean it but it need only suffice for a few weeks.”

“It is more than enough,” Loki insisted. “Thank you.”

“You do not need to thank me. It is fair recompense for what you are sacrificing for our plan to proceed.”

Loki tilted his head, watching you carefully through the shadows. Suddenly he felt all too close and you shuffled away, the motion completely void of subtlety. You were grateful that Loki made no mention of it, although for a brief moment you swore you could see sorrow and regret flicker behind his eyes.

Tugging on the skirts of your nightgown, you snapped, “Speak your mind, Friggason.”

He held his hands in the air, a placating yet somehow playful gesture. “Our plan.”

“What of it?”

“I do believe that is the first time you have claimed ownership of our scheme. You finally have faith that we might pull this off?”

You hummed. “I have always had faith, Loki. Do you wish to stay here tonight?”

The question caught him off guard, perhaps the first time you had truly surprised the man. He pursed his lips together, somehow still managing to look devious. “Princess?”

You pushed yourself up onto your feet and took a seat on the edge of the balcony once again. “You know that is not what I mean. I fear that I shall not sleep much tonight. Your company would be most welcome. However, if you wish to return to the villa then you’d best leave fast. The groundsmen are on the move and the outer gates will not remain unguarded for long.”

Loki made no attempt to leave and a warmth spread through your chest. “I shall stay, if it’s all the same. You are quite a sight in your night clothes, you know. Far easier on the eye than the portrait of the late Lord Agathor that watches over my new bed chambers. You might almost surpass the goddesses with your beauty.”

For the first time that evening, you suddenly felt uncomfortable in the thin material. Until that point, you had hardly noticed the difference between your wafting garments and his thick, worn jacket. But now you wished you had something more to hide behind. A potato sack that might swallow you whole and hide you from heavy gazes.

Blaming the chilly breeze for the tears in your eyes, you subtlety brushed them away and muttered one of the many responses you’d been forced to memorise as a child. “That is very kind of you, good sir.”

You looked to the moon, to the imperfections on her surface and the fuzzy glow she cast over your kingdom. So focused were you on her details that you didn’t hear Loki move until he returned suddenly, coughing for your attention. He remained on the threshold of the balcony, loathed to step out onto the stone platform, but stretched out his arm, a thick robe in his hand. “It was not my intention to upset you, Iliya. I apologise.”

The rich velvet cloak was warm around your shoulders, thick and heavy and grounding. You secured it with a neat bow then curled your fingers into the fluffy lining until it could pull no tighter. You breathed in the familiar perfume, your turn to close your eyes and hide from your fears.

“Don’t go,” you breathed, all too aware of his receding footprints. You turned, surprised to find Loki still there. The corner of your mouth twitched in a watery smile. “You weren’t to know.”

“Do you want – Can you speak of it?”

Fiercely wiping the treacherous tears from your eyes, you fell onto your back and stared up at the stars. It would be easier to say if you couldn’t see his reaction. It wouldn’t be pity, of that you were somehow sure. No, Loki would be angry, furious on your behalf, and that was somehow worse. Still, he deserved to know.

Arm flopping over the edge of the stone, you traced random patterns on the ground and began, “My marriage to you will not be my first.”

Loki edged out of your room, painfully inching along, seated firmly, back against the solid stone pillars for support, until he stopped just out of your reach. He stretched his legs out across the width of the balcony, projecting confidence as he too clung to the edge of his sleeve, ardently refusing to look down across the kingdom. Focused entirely on you, he waited patiently for you to continue.

“I was so young. I hadn’t even reached my second century when I was betrothed to the eldest prince of Nielai, Tal’O. My father loved him – or perhaps he loved the power our marriage would bring. After the wars, he needed all the allies he could get. Either way, it was agreed before we’d ever met and I never had a say.

“He had such a way with words. He could turn such pretty phrases. He told me every day before we were married how beautiful I was. He compared me to the gods themselves. I was so young and believed all of his lies. Charm hides a multitude of sins.”

As you’d predicted, Loki’s hands started to shake with rage. “He hurt you.”

It wasn’t a question but, strangely, that made it easier to answer. “Not at first. Then when he did, I thought that was how all relationships worked. That it was normal to be pulled around, to be moved and positioned behind him. It was always gentle; that’s why no one noticed. He didn’t hurt me. There were no marks but once we married I belonged to him and he took great pleasure in that.

“Tal’O taught me that princesses didn’t speak and rewarded my silence with passion. I laid there every night and took him, silent as always as he praised my looks. We moved to his private estate at some point but I cannot recall those last few years together. We withdrew into his bubble of influence and I was tied to his whim like a pet. I wasn’t the future queen. I was just a mirror for his ego.”

“What happened after that?”

“One eve I snapped. Or perhaps he did. It is fuzzy and I do not often dwell on the memories. All I know is that he leashed me and it pushed me over the edge. We fought, I fled and boarded a vessel back to Asgard. Tal’O pursued me but his ship was destroyed in an asteroid field. I returned home a widow, his collar still around my throat.”

You fathomed that it wasn’t often Loki found himself speechless but found no joy in having rendered him such. Breath came no easier than before although a slight weight had shifted from your chest, as if airing the truth had finally released a little of the ache and pain in your soul. “I wager you had no idea I was so damaged. What a pair we make.”

“This is why you have delayed marriage with your father’s chosen suitors.”

“I could not risk losing myself again.”

“You have my word, Iliya, that you need never fear that with me.”

Empty words and yet you believed him. You truly believed that Loki would never treat you like Tal’O had. You found his shoulder and squeezed it gently, the leather crinkling beneath your fingers. “If it is all the same, I really should retire to my bed. Tomorrow will be a long day and I must gather my strength.”

“Of course. I shall take my leave.”

You glanced down into the gardens and huffed gently. “The late night guards have taken their positions. Your next window to leave is just before dawn.”

That wasn’t _quite_ true. There would be another changing of the guard in little over an hour. If Loki was careful, he could sneak out through the rose gardens and slip into the forest through the east entrance. It was possible but the later window gave more time and meant he could leave through the west – nearer and under cover of shadows.

More than that, though, if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t want Loki to go just yet. A part of you feared that he might disappear forever now that he knew the truth, although you quickly quashed that vicious voice.

“You may stay here and try for a few hours sleep. The bed is large enough for us both.”

“Oh, princess, I am content to take the floor.”

“Nonsense. I shan’t hear of it.”

You rose to your feet and headed inside, straight towards your bed. A few months ago, you would never have believed that you might allow another to share your space. After your revelation tonight, though, you needed to know that he was there, that you weren’t alone any more.

As you passed, Loki caught your wrist through the thick cloak. He loosened his grip instantly, so that you could pull away without any effort, but you remained still, allowed him to keep a hold. Eventually, he dropped his hand and muttered, “You do not need to prove anything to me, Iliya.”

Your wrist tingled, the pressure of his fingertips like a ghostly presence. Closeness with Loki wasn’t completely terrifying. It was, in fact, quite the opposite. Exciting in a way you had never experienced. You enjoyed his proximity. Didn’t want to draw away the moment he touched you. It was… pleasant? Scary? Did those two feelings belong together? You were unsure. However, you were certain about this. “I shall not break for sharing a mattress, Loki.”

Not waiting for a response, you shed your robe and climbed into the large bed. A few moments later, it dipped and Loki slipped in too, careful to leave space between you. You both lay stiffly on your backs before your muscles grew cramped and you turned to your side, back to him. That was far more comfortable.

Listening to the slow sounds of Loki’s breath, you closed your eyes and allowed the darkness to swallow. More at ease than you had felt for months, you succumbed to sleep almost immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed it!


End file.
